A confession is a statement – made by a person or by a group of persons – acknowledging some personal fact that the person (or the group) would ostensibly prefer to keep hidden. The term presumes that the speaker is providing information that he believes the other party is not already aware of, and is frequently associated with an admission of a moral or legal wrong.
This is the closest definition I could find that describes what I am trying to accomplish with this blog. However, these are MY feelings I am sharing. These are MY confessions of the wrongs I have done. These are MY experiences that happened to me. These are the demons I live with everyday no matter how ugly, petty, passive-aggressive or offensive. I did not set out to use this as a forum for family drama; however, that is the part of my life that is enmeshed in my mental health.
Most mental illness has components of genetics, meaning it’s in the DNA. I have some inherited traits from my family. Knowing that I got depression, anger issues and there is anxiety in the family line. My sweet grandmother suffered with anxiety so much that she would barely leave the house. She always knew what to say to me when I was sad. She saved my life when I was 3 years old. My mother had scolded and spanked me for something I did, I was 3. Mom went to the basement to change the laundry and I pushed a chair up against the basement door, pushed the lock and yelled, “bad mommy stay down there.” Then I went upstairs to my grandmother’s room to play. My grandmother heard my mother screaming and beating on the basement door, Gram tells me to get into the closet with the cats and play and don’t move. OK! Gram went down to get mom out of the basement. Mom said she asked Gram where I was, but Gram told her that she would not until mom calmed down. Gram saved my life!!!
People fear the DNA aspect of mental illness. Watching someone you love suffer and you can’t fix it or the fear that you may have the traits. Yes, there is a possibility that you may have a mental illness, but it doesn’t rub off. It isn’t a flu that is contagious. I can’t sneeze on you and you get depression. I wish there was a shot to take it away or it would run it’s course and be gone never to come back.
I got so mad a few years ago because I felt that no one would understand my illness and frustrations I shaved off all my hair. “It was a Brittany Spears moment” I guess. Who knew she would have a break down and shave her hair off. I figured it was easier for people to think I had cancer than to have to explain being Crazy!!!
Now I can look upon my last several years as a learning experience. I have no regrets of having to live through the insanity. I have grown in strength, but I do have my sad moments. I am human and I accept my failures. Yes there are times I feel that all would be better if I was dead. I will not be a liar. My husband asked me not to say that because he told me he would be dead without me. OK so we keep each other alive. I love him and if that is my reason it’s the best. He has always told me the truth even if it hurts, but he is not mean and doesn’t beat around the bush.
As for my past few posts, it is what it is. I am not sorry for telling the truth, I am not sorry for being me and saying what I feel. I’m done being the catch-all for my children. I took responsibility for my part, now grow-up and deal with it. As of now the relationships with my children are broken. Oh well, they will need me before I need them. I refuse to continue to be disrespected. “Live and let live!” God bless them.
Life is a journey and along the way we make choices. My choices may not match what other people think should be, but I am the living my life. I am the one that had to deal with the outcomes. Good or bad life goes on.